Draw Your Threads
by Glorious Clio
Summary: Marian drabble… no real pairing.  Missing scene of "A Clue, No" season 1, episode 13.  "From the manner in which a woman draws her thread at every stitch of her needlework, any other woman can surmise her thoughts."  Honore de Balzac  T for adult themes


Draw Your Threads

Fiction rated K+

AN/Disclaimer; I own nothing, least of all Jonas Armstrong. I mean Robin Hood….

Inspiration came when my mother called me from reading Robin Hood fanfiction to sew, a task I despise. But it did give me a good idea! And special thanks to the wonderful Matriaya for her beautiful beta work!

Marian drabble… no real pairing. Missing scene of "A Clue, No" season 1, episode 13.

o0O0o

"From the manner in which a woman draws her thread at every stitch of her needlework, any other woman can surmise her thoughts." Honore de Balzac

Marian sat, perspiring, though the task at hand could hardly be considered strenuous, indeed needlework was the simplest task she could think of. Once she mastered the skill, of course. And though Marian did not particularly care for needlework, she had plenty of practice.

So much practice, in fact, that none of the three churches in the Shire would ever want for an altar cloth. For every time she got in trouble, or rather, every time Robin of Locksley got her into trouble, she was punished by being locked in her chambers until the Church had a new altar cloth.

This was no altar cloth, however. It was her wedding gown, something that should have been finished by now, she planned on finishing this afternoon, instead of after dark, as it was now. But being in a feverish delirium this afternoon was not conducive to her finishing up the hem on her skirt.

That was one of the reasons she was perspiring so heavily. The wound in her side hurt sharply every time she moved. The other reason was her fiancé, Guy of Gisbourne. Or of Locksley? She wasn't sure of the exact title, but she knew that she was about to enter the correct house on the arm of the wrong groom.

And the wedding night- he would notice the wound, Marian was sure. A virginal nightgown with conveniently placed opening at the front would not satisfy Guy. The nightgown would be lost, and as soon as he saw the wound, so would she. Guy was cruel, but he was clever. He would realize what it meant, and she would lie there on his bed, naked and exposed as the Nightwatchman.

She jabbed herself with the needle, and looked at the gown, she noticed a drop of blood underneath the detail of the embroidery. She quickly tied a French knot over it, effectively hiding the stain, and went back to the hem.

She could run, she knew, but with this wound and with Guy's possessive streak, she would not get very far. And as romantic as the idea seemed, she could not live in the woods as an outlaw.

Out of thread. She knotted it, cut it with her teeth, and threaded the eye again, going back to the work at hand.

She had never planned on making a new dress for her wedding, but somehow, she couldn't bring her self to wear her mother's gown. She had showed it to Robin when she was ten; he was thirteen and had very little interest in things like dresses. But when she talked him into it and showed him, he gave a small nod of approval. When she had put it away again in the sweet lined trunk from her mother's trousseau, he declared that it would be the dress he would marry her in.

And though it was a very old fashioned dress, at least to her ten year old mind, she agreed. When Guy proposed, or forced the idea of marriage, she knew that she would have to make a new dress. A new trousseau too, if there was time.

As it happened, there wasn't time, King Richard was expected within the hour, and the linens and garments that she thought she would wear as Robin's wife would have to be worn as Guy's. She barely had time to finish the dress. It felt like such a betrayal, but the wedding was tomorrow morning, followed by the bridal breakfast. Leading up to her certain death. - and Robin's, if he decided to try and rescue her.

She sincerely hoped he wouldn't. She couldn't bear for Robin to die on her wedding day. Her death would be enough blood spilled on this virginal gown. Though she worried that he would save her, she would also be disappointed if he didn't. He wouldn't be Robin if he didn't try to save her.

She sighed, staring out the window. Perhaps a miracle, in exchange for all of those altar cloths that adorned the Shire?...


End file.
